Chapter 17

He returned home earlier than usual that day, but as expected, the house was wrapped in silence, a quietness that seemed to grow heavier with every step he took.

He walked through the dimly lit hallway and headed straight to his room, loosening his tie as he went. Pushing open the door, he was met with darkness, save for the faint glow of the yellow lamp by the bed. In its light, he could just make out her figure lying still with Emma beside her, her back turned toward him.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply placed his briefcase on the sofa, slipped off his jacket, and walked into the bathroom to freshen up. When he returned, he noticed the room’s lights had been turned on, but her position remained unchanged. She was still facing away from him, her silence louder than any words she could have spoken.

Dominic ran a hand through his damp hair as he stood in front of the mirror, straightening his shirt. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the stiffness in her posture. He sighed quietly, fully aware of her cold demeanor. This resentment was nothing new, and he knew it wouldn’t fade overnight.

As he turned to leave the room, something caught his eye—a faint mark on her arm, just visible against her pale skin. His brows furrowed as he took a step closer.

“How did you get this injury?” he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, as if shielding herself from him.

“Sophia, I asked you something,” he said again, this time with a touch of irritation in his tone. 

“The car... there was an accident.” Her voice finally broke through the silence, muffled and indifferent

“What?” His eyes widened in concern. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a big deal,” she muttered, her words barely audible. “I’m fine.”

“Not a big deal?” His voice sharpened as he moved closer to the bed. “You’ve been hurt, and you didn’t think I should know?”

She didn’t bother answering, simply turned further away, burying her face into the pillow. Her indifference stung more than her words.

Dominic’s jaw tightened. His mind wandered back to a time when she used to tell him everything—every little ache, every small inconvenience, every fleeting worry. Back then, it annoyed him. He’d roll his eyes at her endless updates, dismissing her concerns as trivial. But now, as he stood there, her silence was unbearable. When had she stopped coming to him with her troubles? When had she started hiding her pain from him?

He stared at her for a moment longer, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache. Marriage, he realized, wasn’t something that thrived on autopilot. It needed attention, nurturing, updates—like any other relationship. He had been too busy investing in everything else—business, family, friends—while his marriage was left to wither. And now, he was seeing the consequences.

Without another word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps heavy with unspoken regret.

Maid looked up from the dining table as he entered the kitchen.

“Should I start serving dinner, sir?” she asked, her voice polite.

“Yes,” Dominic replied absently, leaning against the counter.

“And what about Mam? Should I prepare a separate plate for her?” Maid asked, referring to Sophia.

“When she’s ready to eat, let her know there’s food waiting,” Dominic said. “If she doesn’t come down, just set a tray aside for her.”

Maid nodded, carefully setting plates on the table. “Understood, sir.”

Dominic sat down at the head of the table but barely touched his food. His thoughts were still upstairs, lingering in that small room where she lay, bruised and silent. There was no joy in her eyes anymore, no light, no warmth. And for the first time, he wondered if it was his neglect that had extinguished it.

He had come home early in the hope of mending something—anything—but the silence between them had grown into a chasm too wide to cross in a single evening. Yet, as he sat there, one thought remained crystal clear: he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

As Dominic lay in the darkness, the weight of her words pressed down on him like a vice. You can’t fix something that’s already broken.

A chilling thought crept into his mind—what if she left? What if one day he came home and she was gone, her side of the closet empty, the scent of her perfume fading from the sheets?

Would she leave a note? Or would she simply disappear, slipping away quietly, just as she had withdrawn from him over time?

The image of coming home to an empty house, to silence that wasn’t just cold but permanent, made his chest tighten. Would she find someone else—someone who wouldn’t take her for granted? Would another man get to hear her laughter, see the warmth return to her eyes, hold her in ways Dominic hadn’t for far too long?

His hands curled into fists. The thought was unbearable.

The idea sent a sharp, almost physical pain through his chest.

No.

He wouldn’t let that happen.